Buffy The Vampire
by feistsgirl
Summary: In the "nightmare" episode of Buffy, it is revealed that Buffy's worst fear would be to become what she hunts, a vampire. She begins a brief escapade as one but we are left ignorant of just how Buffy would be as a Vampire. Until now.
1. Chapter 1

A faint mist covered the cemetery. The moon was full and high, the only light to cast shadows over the two running figures. The pair, a young man and woman darted artfully among the headstones. She was beautiful, with long golden locks that jumped across her shoulders, blue eyes that were focused and unafraid and a wooden stake locked into her slender fingers. The man was however not a man at all. The moonlight betrayed his demonic features, twisted into a sly and full fanged grin. His yellow eyes were made especially for the night but Buffy was made especially for the kill, the only form in which he would be leaving the graveyard was as dust blown with the midnight wind.

A third undetected party moved into place and watched the slayer deliver a series of punches to the demon, she tossed him into the door of a mausoleum, and his body flew against the reinforced stone. A stake was pushed through his heart before he could recover himself and Buffy slipped the weapon into the back of her jeans, continuing the reconnaissance.

She was exceptional, mused the observer, watching her dust vampire after vampire with a relentless energy. Her final opponent of the night was to Buffy a Drusilla wannabe. The vampire woman wore a long black gown, not unfashionable for the 1800s, but a trend that Buffy did not care to see survive another century. The dark coils of her face swung gracefully as she fought Buffy, the powerful high kicks of her slippered feet were however no match for the slayer and the battle would soon end. It was time for the spectator to become a bona fide opponent and like a lion; he slunk closer to the arena. _Interesting choice of role model_, Buffy shouted, elbowing the vampire onto the grass. _But those are big shoes to fill, are you sure you're that insane?_ A low growl was the only response she got and Buffy had to take a step back to counter the scissor kick that came her way. Muted footsteps were instantly sensed in her peripheral vision; she offered a final punch to Drew's doppelganger and turned to meet the new presence. But they were gone and when she looked back, so was the vampire woman. _Oh come on! Don't you wanna brag about killing a slayer?_ In that moment, the now amused observer, a vampire named Altayz grabbed Buffy by the neck, pulling her into that killing embrace. _Here, allow me,_ He purred.

Her vision swam, it became blood red and she could hear the pounding of a heartbeat. The thumping rhythm slowed painfully and darkness finally overcame it all.

Willow ran through the Summer's home frantically, down the hall and into Buffy's room. Dawn shouted from the living room, her voice high in panic. _Willow, she's not here! _

She raced up the staircase to her; her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. _Dawnie..._Willow began.

_She left yesterday at sunset Willow! It has been a whole day! _

Willow held her temples in a brief moment of hopelessness. _Dawn, I am going to call Giles and then I am going to do a locater spell, we will find Buffy. _

_But what if she is...?_ Dawn couldn't even finish her sentence._ I'll go find Spike; he'll know how to find her. _

Willow was already walking downstairs to the phone. Dawn followed her into the kitchen. _I am going to do the locator spell first, there isn't much Spike can do for us right now Dawn, sunlight remember. _

_The sun will be down soon_, Dawn said. _ I have to do something. _

_Giles isn't answering_, Willow said, growing frustrated with worry. _I'm just going to do the spell. Here, _She handed Dawn the phone, _Call Xander and have him come over here; tell him to swing by Giles's on the way. _ Willow hurried upstairs again and returned with a map and ingredients for the spell.

Night fell over Sunnydale.


	2. Chapter 2

Xander cursed the phone quietly, afraid it would rouse Anya. He'd shut the crew down for the day and come evening he thought they were home free. There hadn't been a single interruption to the lazy day in bed with his wife. _**Wife. **_He was still having some trouble digesting it, but not in an unpleasant way. He snapped up the phone quickly, closing the bedroom door behind him. A frantic Dawn met his ear, it was going to be a long night.  
><em>Slow down, honey. What's wrong with Buffy?<em>

She calmed down to explain her disappearance so much so that even he began to worry. Sure, she'd pulled some disappearing acts with Spike for a time but that had ended. As far as he knew. _She wouldn't go back to him, come on, Buff. _He shuddered at the thought.  
><em>I'll be right over, Yes I'll swing by Giles' as well. <em>

He didn't relish waking up Anya and ran a loving hand over her blonde locks. Her breathing was quiet and even. Content. He had never thought he would have this kind of life. Hell, him, be a grown up? A successful job, an apartment and a wife to help him make it a home. She was the craziest demon-woman he'd ever known (and there had been plenty). She could be obnoxious, inappropriate and arrogant, sometimes all at once. But he had all the love in the world for her. And he liked to think he ran a very close race with the money. He planted a small kiss on her forehead and turned his mind back to Buffy. Where was She? Perhaps he'd swing by Spike's first.

It was late. Too late to be awake. Too late to be researching demons. But Xander still wasn't surprised to find Giles at home and awake. The dull, swaying chords of Pink Floyd greeted him at the door. Not that he knew who Pink Floyd were or how to appreciate them.

Rupert Giles looked up but couldn't see who had just opened his front door. A wall of books enclosed him and his thoughts had been elsewhere. England. Home. He'd been burying himself in demonology for days. It pained him that he had ripped up his one way ticket. It had pained him even more that he hadn't had the stomach to turn his back on Buffy and finally let her grow up. He promised himself it would only be for a short while longer and it would be back to his friends, Olivia in particular, cold, brisk days…and like a kite his mind was far, far away.

_Giles?_

_Hmm.. _

_Giles? Why haven't you been answering the phone?_

Xander looked down at the dishevelled man. He'd taken his glasses off and was rubbing his eyes. A part of him tried not to notice the bags under his eyes, the rumpled clothing. But he couldn't get past the unhappy expression on his face.

_Xander, what are you doing here?_

_I uh, didn't mean to interrupt happy hour but…_

Giles replaced his glasses and waited for him to continue.

_Buffy's missing. Well, Willow and Dawn seem to think so. They're worried, we should go. _

_Spike._

_No, I checked his place, no one was there. _

The two men regarded each other for a moment before departing.

The midnight hour was approaching and all was seemingly quiet. But Spike knew better than that. You didn't live to be over a century (or rather exist) without having some knowledge of the things that go bump in the night. And being one of those things was pretty useful too. The bleached vampire stubbed out his cigarette on a tree and tossed it over his shoulder absently. He'd been walking back to his crypt when he'd noticed the slayer's boy sniffing around. His relationship with him had taken a turn for the worse when the lot of them had found out he was been sleeping with Buffy. Not that they'd been the best of friends to begin with. But they seemed to think he was out to do her harm. Though he never intended to do anything of the kind. And now he was missing her. He liked that love did that to him, let him be foolish and naive. It made him feel human again. It stirred warmth inside of him. Buffy.

Even now he knew he should probably be speculating as to why Xander was snooping around his home. _Bored of married life already? _

But of course that wasn't it. He watched Xander leave, looking…relieved?

He picked up the paper grocery bag he'd put down and wandered over to the crypt. His brow was wrinkled as he did so.

Somewhere on the other side of Sunnydale.

Altayz sat poised on his throne. It was an Edwardian monstrosity. Intricately carved lions reached high past his head ready to pounce. Before him, neatly arranged in aisled rows were the members of the Vampire Elite. The aristocracy. The women wore veiled hats and satin gloves. The men held their fedoras and were attired in three piece suits. Each audience member housed a demon within them that was not to be overlooked. But that's true of any aristocrat.

He didn't need to stand. They all sat at attention, waiting on his address. Their leader, their master. He looked to be frozen in his thirties, though many of them were unsure what century he had been turned. When he raised a hand to brush through his brown curls, alabaster skin gleamed at them. He was tall even as he sat. And commanding. His human eyes glinted the palest of blues. He was exquisitely beautiful and terrifying.

_The council have been a thorn in the side of every vampire for too long. Their influence has grown steadily and powerfully. Each time they quash our kind it is an embarrassment. For what are they but humans? Humans who know too much._

They nodded in agreement.

_But what is the Council's greatest weapon? _

He leaned forward in his throne, meeting the gaze of individuals.

_The Slayer. _

_When a slayer dies another is called. _He smiled now. _But my witch friends tell me that turning a slayer changes the mystical energy surrounding the slayer line. I'm told that by turning Her, we can end the slayer line forever. _

The room fell into an awed silence.

_Thus destroying the council and beginning a new era of vampiric dominion._

The end of the slayer line. The blood lust was in every pair of eyes that regarded Altayz. Freedom at last.

_So you have no selfish motives, Altayz?_ _This is just for the good of Vampires everywhere?_

The vampire that addressed him still had his hat on. It was tipped arrogantly to the side, exposing a long scar down his right cheek. In addition to this, angelic locks of corn silk spilled out from underneath it complementing a very attractive face. Lars. He was maybe a few decades shy of Altayz age but there had been a time where he'd sat at his best friends' right hand. When the raised platform had housed an equally hideous throne for him. But that time was passed and the scar was all that served as any reminder.

The awe became suffocating as the vampires waited on their master's reaction.

He laughed.

It began as a slow, rumbling chuckle that rose to near hysteria.

_You know better than anyone that my motives are rarely otherwise._ The room erupted into laughter around him. _But why should such motives trouble my friends so long as the Slayer is removed permanently? Surely I can be borne no ill will then._

He stood up now, with the toes of his shoes overhanging the platform. He teetered playfully with his hands in the pockets of his pristine black suit_. Any objections?_

They all clapped this time. It was the steady rhythm of societal applause. Altayz didn't tolerate riff raff.

_I'm so very pleased. _

The two now enemies locked eyes and Altayz turned to exit.

_Aren't you forgetting something? _He called behind him_._ A lot of the vampires sighed, some shushed him. But Lars was no coward. And what was another scar really? _Aren't you going to tell us that you've turned her already? Wouldn't you like the adulation?_

New chatter struck up around the room. Looks of distrust were exchanged. _Why hadn't he told them?_

_You're not afraid it hasn't worked, are you? _

Altayz stopped but kept his back to the room.

_When I have more to deliver, I will._ He closed the door behind him. The discussion continued louder in his wake. Lars would linger to plant more doubt and depart. But that was easily remedied. He wasn't as informed as Altayz had thought after all. He wasn't deserving of the overestimation Altayz awarded. The witch had mentioned that further incantations would be necessary. The slayer essence would need to be changed somewhat manually, turning Buffy had only been the first step. It didn't worry him. Nor should he worry his followers with the particulars.

A long stone corridor opened back into the main wing of the house. The manor house was resplendent with the finest furnishing the 1900s had to offer, it had been the century that stuck most with him. He extended a thoughtful hand to the parlour fire. His age meant that he could enjoy the heat with no fear of blistering, but one could never be too careful.

He could smell her blood. Dried but fragrant. He could hear her breathing those last human breaths. The final beat of her heart. He looked in the direction of the library, where her body was draped over a sofa. His brow creased.

He couldn't hear a thing anymore. Altayz sat down to wait.

It wasn't long before his thoughts began to drift to events long passed. A vampire never forgets. It's a remorseless existence of too many memories for one mind. It's a kind of torture. Nobody wants to remember everything…It was also his personal beneath that despite lack of conscience and guilt, wisdom was an inevitability with great age. Certain feelings just begin to creep in and grow.

He was back in that alleyway.

It had been a cool evening. Autumnal. He remembered how many windows still had candles lit in them and how many did not. And He remembered every detail of her. The flame hair that was swept up, braided intricately with rubies as though she'd just come from a ball. She was however bedecked in men's clothing. The pants and shirt looked tailored to fit and the boots well worn. He recalled how he had stood, mesmerised while she pushed a much larger man against the alley wall and drained him. The look of pleasure that crossed her vampiric features as the corpse dropped to the ground was made more astounding as those features shifted. A porcelain face regarded him now. Green eyes of unfailing sweetness. She hadn't said anything. She leapt agiley to where he stood. Her fingers were warm from the kill as she ran them down his cheek. A single finger she then poised over her lips before disappearing.

It had been months before he'd seen her again and realised just how deep his longing for her ran. He found her again at court. She sat, dignified as a queen, an honoured guest of the royal family. Countess Tatiana Parlimore. Her husband Count Frederick sat to her right with her hand clasped in his. The hand she'd so affectionately stroked him with.

He was turned in the time of great kings. Rulers. Emperors and the like. He was well born and didn't see immortality as a reason to quit this. He always conducted himself as a gentleman. Though he could no longer remain in any one place for long, a nomadic life opened up so many worlds to him. The world of knowledge. He became a scholar. The world of warfare. He became a soldier. He counselled kings and he sailed aboard fleets. He killed. Then he fell in love. The way vampires do. He had the nagging suspicion it leant more in the direction of obsession.

The memories dissipated when he heard movement.

She didn't know where she was. She didn't really care. A hunger swelled inside of her, dark and consuming. She had to get out. She had to feed. She wanted to kill.


	3. Chapter 3

Another unfailingly sunny morning rose over the town. For the scooby gang it came as something more distressful than welcoming. A new day was come and Buffy was not.

_I just don't understand it. Locator spells are my bread and butter, I don't mess them up! _Willow spoke into her untouched coffee mug.

Giles was polishing his glasses somewhat absently. He wasn't in the room at all.

_You'll do it again. Willow, you have to! You must have done something wrong…or…or Buffy was kidnapped and isn't in Sunnydale anymore? We'll need a bigger map…or…or_…

The tears started down the littlest Summer's face as she desperately tried to form some plausible explanation for her sister's disappearance. But the world of evil was all too real now. Xander put an arm around her shoulder but remained silent. He was looking off at Anya while an unheard conversation passed between him and Willow.

_It's not good Xan._

_What are the reasons that she wouldn't be showing up on the map?_

_Well, she might not be in the Sunnydale anymore but…_

_You think she's…?_

_It's still too soon to think that way. There are other channels I can use. Can you keep the others here, try to reassure Dawn. I might be gone a while. _

_Is it safe?_

_That's not important._

The two best friend's eyes met for an instant. The conversation moved back to the verbal kind.

_Giles' I'm going to head to the magic box and try another locator spell. _

_Perhaps Tara could be of some help to you? _He said.

Willow stiffened for a moment at the suggestion.

_Maybe._

_I'm coming too_, Dawn said.

_No, you stay here, in case Buffy calls. _

Dawn opened her mouth to object and Xander squeezed her arm gently.

_Why can't you do the spell here?_

_I'm running low on ingredients and there are books I'll need as well. Everything is fine, Dawnie. I promise I'll find Buffy. _

She'd brought Buffy back to life once. She didn't know if nature would grant her such a favour again. She was hoping she wouldn't need to ask. Dawn walked her to the door and watched her leave. She knew there was a way she could be useful too. But she'd need some help. She cast a look over her shoulder at Xander and Anya. Whispering . Giles was looking thoughtful all on his own. She needed Spike.

The college campus was relatively quiet for a Sunday morning. The majority of the students were in recovery from a long, boozing evening. Tara was not one of them. Ever since she had moved out of the Summer's home her dorm room seemed enormous. Gaping and empty. Like her heart. Her nights were restless, her days endless and the weeks that passed monotonous. Dawn kept her well up to date on most matters but she missed her involvement in the day to day battle for good. There had been a time in her life when she'd believed her magical abilities were demonic and could only be the product of evil. But it was Willow and Buffy and the whole gang who had showed her just how untrue that was. She had finally felt that she belonged and had some purpose. Classes and campus life held little importance without being able to fulfil that purpose now. Her fingertips pulled the curtains aside but she didn't see anything. The phone rang beside her. Willow's voice made her heart stop and warm simultaneously.

_I know you don't want to see me. But I need your help. It's Buffy. _

England – The Watcher's Council HQ

The Watcher's council never slept. Does Evil? It's members still marched the offices purposefully despite the fact it was past midnight. Some had taken to napping in their offices and delegating to the over-eager clerks. But their wake up came all too quickly. The magical sensors didn't sound but then again, Delia had been the very witch to cast them. She arrived with a gentle breeze that smelt faintly of spring time. Delia was the head witch one of the world's most powerful covens. Conveniently located in London. The coven kept a close yet professional relationship with the Watcher's council. The reason they allowed such intimate rapport was more to do with keeping the stuffy English drones under control. Humans were so very inclined to act rashly and with arrogance.

To Brian, a clerk and apprentice watcher only two months into his job, the sudden appearance of this beautiful witch-woman was terrifyingly exciting. The paper trolley he pushed was sent into horrible disarray but he didn't notice. She stood taller than he, nearly six foot he imagined. She was slim and garbed in gauzy, green fabric that looked like smoke. An Amazon. That's what she looked like. But she was something more powerful than that. He could see it in the pertness of her posture, the confident glint of her grey eyes. Her hair was golden, worn long and loose and her skin like milk…

_Delia! Good evening,_ it was Rogers who rushed to play host. Quentin would be on his way.

_Blessed be_, she said. Her voice was like a rush of electricity. It crackled and caressed the words. She didn't need to turn her head to know exactly who was present in the building and where.

_Mr Travers is on his way, if you'd care to sit down and wait._

She wasn't paying him any mind and looked instead to Brian.

_My apologies, young man. _

He was still standing there quite stunned. The papers that littered the floor suddenly drifted fluidly back into place on the cart. Without a word Delia glided into Quentin's office to wait.

_Friends again, are we Nibblet?_

Spike's voice came over Dawn's shoulder making her jump. He had been asleep when he'd heard the front door open. The little bit was anything but stealth. The panicked look on her face had him wanting to hug her. She had become like a baby sister in the months after Buffy's death, perhaps even like a daughter. But the relationship had unravelled when his and Buffy's sneaking around had come out. Still. He had to maintain SOME of his bad-boy status and his face took on that of a measuring expression.

_I don't think Big Sis would like your being here._

_I'm still mad at you but I need your help. _

He breathed out a sigh and walked past her to get himself a drink.

_More spells is it? _

_Sort of...I need to..._

_Look Dawn, Go home. We're not pals anymore. _

He didn't see the angry tears form in her eyes. But he let her tear the glass from his hands and throw it.

_Buffy is gone! I don't know where, nobody knows where. Even Willow can't track her and everyone is leaving me out of the discussion. I'm not just some stupid kid. You're the only one who knows that..._

That would explain why the boy had been at his crypt. Looking for Buffy. That had been the previous evening.

_She was out all of yesterday and now today. She hasn't called...and they think she's dead. I could see it in their eyes. _

Spike moved past her, he disappeared and returned with his leather coat. He gestured at the sewer entrance in his floor.

_Ladies first. _

_Where are we going? _

_I know a witch. _

_There must be something wrong with the spell, my pronunciation or the ingredients._

Willow picked up the small cauldron and emptied the contents, ready to prepare the mixture over. Tara rubbed her hands over the map that had formed in the manipulated sand, ending the failed spell.

_Do you mind looking over the spell again? I'm saying something wrong. I know it. _

_Sure. _

Tara felt her hands close over Willows as she took the book from her but their eyes didn't meet. The room grew silent as they worked separately.

Willow murmured an enchantment as she combined sand with all of the necessary ingredients. She measured each knowing full well that this had not been the spell she'd intended to cast. But she was afraid of broaching the subject with Tara.

_You could have done this spell on your own, _She didn't look at Willow as she said it. It came off almost casually. _So let's not waste anymore time...or Giles' stock. _

She let her eyes meet Willows with a resigned expression. Willow nodded. She hated that she was a part from someone who knew her like no other.

It felt as though the room, no, the world were spinning. The two of them sat facing each other with their eyes closed. Willow probably could have done _this_ spell without help as well, but she was frightened. She'd become exceedingly addicted to Magic using and she needed someone she could trust to keep her grounded. It also didn't hurt for Tara to see her being so responsible with her power either.

Tara knew that Willow had been holding back when she explained the spell. The strength of it crackled the room and thrummed into her veins. She was seeking a new sight. If she were granted it, then she would be able to see Buffy anywhere, even if she were dead. It was an overwhelming gift for the human body. Willow could feel it beginning to penetrate her mind. The power made her want to scream. The other worldly creatures could keep their precious additional senses when all was said and done.

They opened their eyes simultaneously. For a moment Tara saw Willow's eyes and then they clouded black before assuming a pale blue in entirety. They closed again and Tara poured the enchanted sand. To Tara it looked as though the outcome were the same as earlier. The sand shifted and danced to form a map of Sunnydale but with no speck of light to indicate Buffy's location. Without opening her eyes, Willow ran her hands a few centimetres over the map. The weather shifted outside as Willow channelled her temporary powers. Clouds blotted out the sun and the wind tore through the streets. Willows hands moved steadily over the blank map and stopped. Tara studied the place where her she'd halted and Willow sat back. Sun peered into the shop again and Willow abruptly ended the spell. Her whole body ached with the intrusion but she stood anyway. Tara rushed to steady her before she fainted.

_What did you see? Did you find Buffy?_

Instead of collapsing into unconsciousness she began to sob into Tara's shoulder.

_I found her, _she moaned. _But I don't know if I can save her this time. _

England

_Mr Travers_

_Delia, how nice to see you. _

She didn't shake his hand. Only inclined him to sit in his chair.

_We have a grave problem Mr Travers, in Sunnydale._

He swallowed hard. Sunnydale. Buffy Summers. The Slayer who had turned her back on the Watcher's council, humiliating them. Humiliating him. And yet, she was the most powerful Slayer that the line had ever produced. He would never admit to his admiration for her.

_That particular hellmouth is a constant problem of great gravity. Cleveland gives us much less trouble. You needn't have troubled yourself with a visit._

_Be quiet. _Her calm face was instantly consumed with turmoil and anger. _A great injustice has come to pass. A travesty. Something of the most tragic and unnatural circumstance. _She seemed to grow taller in her chair.

_There hasn't been a problem in Sunnydale yet, that Miss Buffy Summer's could not handle alone and in fact insisted that she would handle alone. _

_You're a fool with a grudge. Your Slayer is dead and that's not even the beginning of it. _

His heart began to beat faster. _The next Slayer will be on the way then. _

_No she will not. _

Delia stood up to lean over the desk and into Quentin's face.

_Mr Travers, it is only a matter of days before the Slayer line will be finished forever if you don't stop the vampires. Your Buffy Summers has been sired. _

Spike ushered Dawn back up the sewer tunnel, the sun was just setting. He would walk her home and speak to Giles. Even if Giles didn't want to speak to _**him**_.

_I didn't mean to waste your day, the same thing happened to her as Buffy. _

It wasn't entirely true. Makra had found a presence. A distressing and demonic aura, still in Sunnydale.

_It's not Buffy then, _Spike had told the witch. _You're mistaken._

_I'm not mistaken often. _


	4. Chapter 4

Why hadn't she heard him? She hadn't even sensed him. How was it that he had slipped through? Arms closed around her. A voice, cultured and mocking whispered in her ear. Fangs plunged into her neck.

It didn't feel the same as before. Everything was different. She felt her heart slow to a putter as it frantically struggled to combat death. The darkness rolled in quickly. But it wasn't the same peaceful finish. Instead, she felt her eyes flutter open to more darkness and a beautiful, laughing face. She felt that thick, hot liquid down her throat. It coated her insides with a warmth that actually meant her death. She knew the taste. She could feel the power. The life that it imbued. How could this elixir be her end? She tried to strike the beautiful face. He had mocking eyes of the most angelic blue. She saw his mouth move as he laughed but there was no sound. Only a sporadic heartbeat in her ears. She could still feel the blood in her mouth and she licked her lips. She couldn't see where she was, all began to dim and flicker. Was she falling? She felt strong, gentle arms lift her. Her entire body felt bruised. Used. She wanted to sit up but nausea consumed her. Her body tried to reject the blood now. It was all so wrong. She was The Slayer. Nobody could do it better than she. Her last conscious thoughts drifted to Dawn, she would be well looked after. Then she felt it. She felt her soul being dismissed. It was like she'd never been.

For a newly sired Vampire, reawakening is often a very disorienting experience. A good deal of the time they awaken in sealed coffins six feet under. If they're lucky, their sire will have tossed them in a corner – making the need to dig oneself out of a grave unnecessary. The Vampire formerly known as Buffy had already had _that _particular experience. And was in fact of a privileged majority to have risen in such a sophisticated and welcoming setting. But her mind had no appreciation of it. There was suspicion, calculation and an urgent need to kill the first thing that moved. There was also a very hazy sensation at the back of her mind. Confusion.

She remembered she had been the Slayer and now she was not. She was in an unfamiliar room. A library. Wearing clothes that reeked of her own blood and someone else's. And outside of the room, down a set of stairs she sensed a presence. The demon inside of her wasn't aware that the Slayer body came with keener senses and strengths than typical Vampires enjoyed. But that was exactly what Altayz had been expecting. An ornate mirror regarded The Vampire Buffy from over the unlit fireplace. It's ornate frame meant little to her – carved as it was of rich gilded metals and fibres. She touched a hand to her face and stared into the blank reflection. Where she should have been she could only see the couch. That should have been hidden behind her. She wanted to go downstairs and confront whoever was there. But she was getting caught up in the new sensations of being. She could hear things that she shouldn't have. She felt something pulsating in the walls of the mansion. Magics. Black and dark and evil. It was comforting. For the first time, she realised that the room was completely dark. There were no lights on. Her sight was unbelievable – she supposed it had to be. Night walker.

_Buffy. _

That melodious voice. She recognised it and snarled.

_Buffy. _

He whispered to her through concrete and brick, beckoned, summoned, commanded. Nobody told her what to do, not when she was living and not now. And yet she could feel herself conceding. She closed her hands into fists defiantly. Blood trickled to the floor where her nails cut into the flesh. She crossed the room as far away from the door as she could get. Hunger was clawing it's way up her throat and annoyance as well. It wasn't like her to hide like some rat in a hole. But she supposed that was the demon's instincts. She was shying away from what she assumed was a powerful opponent. Did Vampires assume? The voice patiently called her again and again.

Altayz had arranged himself lazily at the bottom of the stairwell. His mind reached out to the newborn Vampire in amusement. She was a headstrong little thing, he would take great pleasure in mastering her. The magics that pulsated the house grew to an electric thrum and he lolled his head around to where Ankah had entered.

_My dear, Good Morning. _

Her eyes burned red with insult, he was so disrespectful. She could reduce him to ashes with a single thought. But didn't. Not yet anyway.

_The Vampire is awake, anybody with magical inclinations will soon feel the insurgence. _

_Mmm yes I know. She 's hiding from me. _He chuckled. _Tell me, Ankah, I'm not so frightening, am I?_

_There is no time for your games. We must progress quickly._

_There is __**always**__ time for games, honestly Ankah. Lighten up. _

He was sidling up the staircase like a cat. His hands riding the banister, sending waves of energy through his dead body. It was like being alive.

_We still have much to _consider_, the Slayer's witch friends for example._

He didn't look back, instead he ran his hands over the walls, on the other side of them the Slayer paced like a caged animal.

_You assured me they were of no concern. Am I to doubt your word?_

_No. One of them, may however, prove an annoyance. _

He looked over his shoulder.

_Oh Ankah, if you want the witchlings dealt with then all you have to do is ask. Nicely. _His smile was a little frightening. He turned back to the wall and flung the door open.

_If it's hide and seek you wish to play, I must warn yo., I'm very good, _he purred and slammed the door behind him.

Tatiana shrieked and slammed the door. Her laughter made his heart want to pound. He chased her into the bed chamber. Her chest was heaving as though she were out of breath from the game.

_You're an unapologetic cheat, Lady Parlimore, _he chided, edging toward her.

_Your inability to keep up, Mr frioche, is certainly not my fault! _

She lifted her skirts to run but was quite indelicately tackled onto the bed.

_Got you, _Altayz purred.

_Mr Frioche, You forget yourself. _

_No, my lady, I can't be myself around anybody else. _

His Lord, the Count Parlimore should have known better than to leave his free-spirited wife unattended. But it was more often than not that he quitted their estates with escorts or a hunting party. He was also a lively man which was why he'd been attracted to his wife in the first place. He was easily bored and enjoyed having his bed warmed by a different woman every night. They were indeed a pair. While the Count indulged in his third hunting expedition of the month, Tatiana was left free to play her own games. But she'd come to favour a single partner. The manor house was empty, except for the servants who never questioned why their mistress did not go out in the sunlight nor disclose to their Count and Master, her playmates.

She let his lips reach but a breath from hers before she overturned him. He bounced to the floor in a fit of laughter and snarls and the chase began again, with she in the lead. Just as _he_ liked it.

The Summer's home was sombre. A shadow had come to rest over all of them, like a bank of clouds that eclipsed the sun and refused to budge. It wouldn't have mattered if the clouds lifted. Each day was a slow fall down an all-consuming tunnel. There was only darkness. Two days had passed in this way. Even Spike lingered in the evenings without protest. He had come to speak to Giles as planned and found the Watcher already informed of the dire situation. His mood hadn't changed much from the state he had been in for the past few weeks. He was now truly relieved of his Watcher's duties. And he was sick with guilt. Had his single-minded desire to be home, in England brought about this tragedy? He had so wished for any reason at all to grant him leave. He had been praying that it would be Buffy who would release him. Assure him she could in fact handle things or would at least try to do so on her own. As an adult. Now she was dead. Frozen in time, never to grow up. She had become the enemy. She had become what she had always hunted and killed. Buffy was no more and in her place existed a demon…

_You didn't tell Dawn? _He didn't polish his glasses and that was perhaps the strangest thing of all.

Spike shook his head. _I thought the witch was wrong. They're so hyped up most of the time. High as bleedin' kites._

_I suppose it will fall to me then. I've never heard of such a thing happening. _

_I don't think we ever thought to do it. You kill the Slayer, you don't turn them. _Spike suddenly wondered why it had never crossed his mind nor any other vampire he'd been acquainted with. And there had been many of them.

The Vampire and the Watcher's eyes met and deadened. Somewhere, in the town, there walked The Vampire Buffy. What did the reasons for it matter? It was done. All was hopeless.

The doorbell rang and the household held it's breath. It was daylight after all but who would be visiting? Buffy had once remarked that everyone she knew lived in that house.

Giles answered the door and was bowled over.

_Mr Giles, How nice to see you._

Giles regarded Quentin Travers in all of his pomp and tweed, behind him were an army of Brits of identical disposition and dress. He hadn't thought the situation could get worse. But life always found a way.

_Quentin, _He bitoff his former employers name.

_We have some serious matters to discuss. _His eyes travelled around the house. _This will have to do. Shall we have tea?_


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't know where she was. She seemed to be walking a solid pathway but couldn't see the surface. Before her extended some sort of void, all was blank. There was no transparency and no colour. Nothing. _Weirdest dream ever. _She could feel a stiffness in her neck that seemed to recede as she rolled it from side to side. She didn't know it, but an unknown force was pulling her along, keeping her on track as she crossed the void.  
><em>Hello?<em> She called.  
>She expected her voice to echo for miles and miles but there was no answer. Even the sound of her voice was strange. Dull and contained. She couldn't get out. Never one to give up so easily, she repeated her call as she walked. The space didn't change. She might have been walking on a treadmill. When it seemed she'd been walking a long time, perhaps hours, she stopped. Still nothing happened. She was growing frustrated and turned to go back to where-ever it was she'd come from. It was her dream after all, surely she could conjure up a helpful, fluorescent exit sign. For the first few steps it seemed that nothing had happened but things changed quickly. She heard a great, rushing wind come towards her and felt it almost lift her with its strength. She fought it to her knees where it lessened. A terrible noise consumed her senses, so loud was it that she couldn't see anymore. She crawled in the direction she had originally set out in. Her ears felt like they might bleed and she was already sure her nose was running blood. She crept on all fours and the sound was gone. The blaring pain in her head disappeared instantly. She sat for a while,<br>_Okay then, I guess I'm going this way._

Surely the Watcher's council holds the funds for a hotel room...far away from here, Giles teeth clenched into a smile so tight he was afraid they'd shatter.

Quentin only nodded into his tea-cup and ignored him. In the days that followed, the Summer's home had transformed itself into a temporary headquarters for the Watcher's delegation, as well as sleeping barracks. The walls were ready to burst and patience had been worn down to a hair's breadth. The only saving grace was that a lot of them seemed to be frightened of Spike, despite his active chip. Nobody thought to correct the notion and enjoyed the scurrying and startled glances.

This minor consolation did not however contribute much to overall morale. Dawn was the most affected, she had taken on a zombie state of existence, seeking comfort in the routine of her day. She didn't speak to anyone, and researched quietly and separately on her own.

Xander, Willow, Tara and Anya had snagged the dining room table and refused to concede a square inch of it, the room had become their very own research lab. From what Quentin had told them – there was little time before things went south. Delia had sensed the magical upheaval, felt the link sever between the slayer and the natural world. And there was only one reason that such an unnatural death should be organised. The end of the human world. Again.

Can it really be as simple as turning the slayer into a Vampire? Spike muttered, lighting a cigarette.

_Hey, hey, hey!_ Xander shouted. Spike ignored him and paced around the table. _Why hasn't anyone tried it before? Why didn't I ever ..._

_Because it isn't just that simple. We're talking about the reversal of mystical energies that practically extend back to the primordial._

_If all this mojo is so powerful and evil, how come Willow didn't notice?_ Everyone turned to look at Willow as Anya spoke. I _mean, if it's as earth shattering as this witch said, on the other side of the world! How come you didn't notice it? And right under your nose…_ Xander silenced her with a pat on the back.

_I think that's enough._

_She's right,_ Willow cried. _There's something wrong here_. She cupped her nose self consciously and picked another journal from the stack of watchers diaries that Quentin and his posse had dragged all the way from England. _I don't know how Delia figures that Buffy being turned automatically warrants a spell to end all slayers and lay way for the vampires to reclaim the world. But it kind of makes sense. Poor Buffy._

_We'll figure something out,_Tara extended a hand to Willows, drawing it away from her face. _There's nothing wrong with your nose._

_It kind of hurts._

Tara leaned over and kissed it while the others turned back to their own assignments. They didn't know where Buffy was anymore, the locator spells had scrambled. They didn't know what kind of enemy they were up against a part from the fact that they were incredibly powerful. And they were minus a slayer. The odds seemed to be piling up against them but they would never give in. It was Buffy after all. Nobody drew their attention to the fact that their best friend was in fact, a vampire – or wondered aloud whether a reversal spell would reinstate her humanity.

Spike closed the door quietly, almost respectfully behind him as he disappeared into the night, again. His nightly search began again for the only woman he would ever love.

Buffy felt the life slowly leave the boy's body. He had been very young, kind of pretty and fresh. To describe blood as delicious would have been a grave insult to the ecstasy of the kill. She felt his heart pound to a close, felt the warmth in his soft body turn cold. And she remembered what it had been like for her. Or at least for the real Buffy. She had felt fear. Anger. Hopelessness. But that didn't change anything. He was dead now, and she was still hungry. Her thoughts were becoming so clipped and regimented. There was hunger, fatigue, the need for the kill and a dislike for her maker that continued to creep in as well. He was attractive, she felt like she wanted him. But he was controlling and far too instructive. _She_ wanted to be in control. It was her way, but then...The Vampire Buffy shook her head and the body slumped to the floor. She wanted to claw at her brain and rip out the strange ideas that kept sneaking in. Memories and traits that belonged to the body's former occupant.

Altayz emerged from the shadows and stepped over the body. He cupped her face and whispered tenderly, _Still not satisfied, are you, my love?_

She let herself be held for a moment. Her answer being a vicious glare into his arrogant face. _Would you like me to rustle up someone else for you to eat? I'd be happy to._

_I can manage. Alone._

But he wouldn't let go, his hands slid down her face and over her collarbone. _You're exquisite. I'm so pleased. _He chuckled to himself. _Don't you just love it when things work out?_

_Getting a little ahead of yourself, don't you think? That witch of yours seems to be taking an awfully long time to get her act together. Why don't you rustle her up for me to eat? _ The slap stung. He was old. Strong.

_I ought to teach you some respect, little girl. Instead, here I am, going out of my way to make sure you're well fed. Comfortable. Giving you nice clothes. And you still have the audacity to talk to me as though I work for you. You're mine to command…_

_But you do work for me._

All she wanted was to wipe off that smirk that seemed permanently fixed on his delicately, chiselled features. Features so finely carved that Michelangelo might have wept at their perfection. _Push me, I dare you. I'd happily dust this body if it prevents you from getting what you want. What you need to remember, Old man, _she said, stabbing a finger into his chest. _Is that I do as I please._

He had been walking her around the grounds of the Manor House. Giving her a guided tour as though she were an out of town guest. He had had a meal brought to her, weepy and pathetic. It was true, he had given her new clothes, he doted on her. But what did that mean to her? She wasn't human anymore. She hadn't existed in this body long enough for her to recognise even the most basic emotions or courtesies. She hadn't an ounce of respect for her sire.

He swallowed the urge to dust her there and then, remembering how much he enjoyed a difficult woman.

_I'll not strike you again. You'll have no reason to resent me or the gift I have given you. You're going to live forever, and when I'm through, the world will be our playground._ He left her then, steadily covering the green expanse. He'd probably lock himself away in his quarters as he'd done most evenings. Night was supposed to be a vampire's most active time. She tried to wonder about him but her train of thought was so easily derailed.

The wind was wild and it tore at her coat as she disappeared over the boundaries. They were situated somewhere on the coast. Which coast she couldn't tell. Altayz had forbidden her to leave. It wasn't part of the plan. She was supposed to be unveiled, like his queen. His trophy. _Not going to happen. _

She let the memories guide her. Perhaps she walked for hours, maybe only minutes. But the Manor house was quickly put behind her and what came into view were the suburbs. She didn't need to look at the street signs to know when she had reached Rovello Drive.


End file.
